A citizen sighted high-speed Drones flying over Denver, Colorado, and videotaped them. The local Fox TV station taped them too, and asked what they can be. NORAD (the North American Aerospace Defense Command), 70 miles to the South, said it didn’t notice them. Colorado just Legalized Marijuana.
600 miles to the East, at Ft. Leavenworth Federal Prison in Kansas, Political Prisoner Bradley Manning is held indefinitely for whistleblowing: That is, he’s being held – and according to the UN he was Tortured by Obama’s forces – for allegedly protecting his nation from criminal acts committed by President Barack Obama, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, and others in high Government posts.
On Halloween Amy Goodman reported on Democracy Now! that a US Border Patrol sharpshooter in a helicopter Murdered two Guatemalans on the US-Mexico border because he suspected they were possessing drugs. The report begins at 3:53 of the following clip.
This reminds one of the US DEA (Drug Enforcement Administration) massacre Murders of Honduran pregnant women, some men, and at least one child in May, as reported by Goodman and Juan Gonzalez on Democracy Now! These Murder victims were also accused of drug possession by the US. In this case, a US State Department helicopter accompanied the US DEA helicopter from which the US-paid killers shot the poor people. I would like to know if President Obama personally authorized the slaughter of these pregnant women and children, or if he authorized Covering Up their Murders. I would further like to know if Secretary of State Clinton was in the State Department helicopter that participated in the massacre.
I don’t know if President Obama personally gave the order to kill the pregnant women, or if he just generally empowered employees of the DEA and the Border Patrol to Murder anyone suspected of Marijuana possession. One hopes that he didn’t empower US forces to Murder anyone suspected of being Hispanic or Latino, as he appears to have ordered against Muslims and Arabs. Obama’s reign of terror has also brought on the Murders of hundreds of journalists, in both Mexico and Honduras; but that’s a story for a different article.
Most drug enforcement efforts in this country and Mexico are aimed at Marijuana. In the Honduras massacre, the suspicion may have been Marijuana, Hashish, or Cocaine. Murdering people on suspicion of anything is an Atrocity, and in the two cases cited above, these were War Crimes, committed by our Government, apparently shielded from prosecution by our President and by Attorney General Eric Holder. The Murderers had no right to kill these people. Even if President Obama gave the DEA and Border Patrol permission to kill any suspected drug possessors or Latinos, even if Obama did that, these barbaric killers of the DEA and Border Patrol still need to be arrested for Murder. All of them.
Why does President Obama push to have people who may be possessing Marijuana killed? Why does he block Skin Cancer patients from access to the malady’s anecdotal cure, Rick Simpson Oil? What does President Obama have to gain by subjecting Skin Cancer to painful and unnecessary deaths? Is it because Marijuana can be grown in such a way and in such quantities that it can replace all our Petroleum, Coal, and Nuclear Power usage with Clean Energy that does not emit any Greenhouse Gases? Yes it is: Why? Money.
President Obama claims that he wants the United States to be Energy Independent, but that’s obviously a lie: As cited below, Lund University in Sweden proved Jack Herer’s hypothesis that, by growing Cannabis Hemp (Marijuana) on just 6% of our arable land, we can be Energy Independent on Hempen Clean Fuels in just two months, and we, the United States, would then no longer be contributing to Global Warming. What’s more, by no longer importing Petroleum or Petroleum products, we can instantly flip our disastrous Trade Deficit into a Trade Surplus – because our Petroleum-related imports are larger than our Trade Deficit.
President Obama yesterday said that his Administration has not done enough to address Climate Change. As far as I know, that is the only true statement he has ever made relating to Climate Science: Remember the Debate, when he Superstitiously bragged that he had laid enough Pipe to wrap the world with Oil and Gas Pipelines too many times? Remember the Debate, when he Superstitiously ridiculed his opponent Mitt Romney for once blocking a filthy Coal-burning plant from killing more children?
Remember the last two years’ ANOHOs (Annual Northeast Obama Hurricanes in October)? Obama learned by December 2010 (at the latest) at the Copenhagen Climate Conference that Earth’s climate had reached its tipping point. But instead of doing something about it, he pumped enough Oil and laid enough Pipe and Mined enough Coal to cause the biggest hurricane of all time, Superstorm Sandy.
But with President Obama’s program of selling out US citizens on Global Warming to make more money for BP and his other Oily cronies, next year’s ANOHO will very likely be an even bigger Superstorm than Sandy!
With President Obama’s insane, stupid, and expensive Bribery idea of pumping Petroleum through a giant Pipeline to Texas(!) [which already has plenty of Oil], he remains in complete denial of Global Warming: The most anti-science President we’ve ever had, and just at the time that we need a President who can tell the truth about Climate Change without having to consider how big a Bribe BP is going to give him and his Interior Secretary, Ken “Horse Burgers” Salazar.
Speaking of BP, looks like they just made a ridiculous deal. As reported here at FDL at the time, BP was ‘paying people off’ by paying them only the estimate of what they would have earned in two years without the BP Oil Spew in the Gulf of Mexico. But many of these people lost something worth many times that much, for their families had fished the Gulf for generations. They lost the family business, and BP, with Obama’s help, paid them a disgraceful pittance. Also, the Coast Guard was supposed to protect our coast, and should have prevented that Chemical Company from spraying that toxic Dispersant, which may have permanently ruined Gulf waters, including the seafood.
David Letterman last night, when introducing Steely Dan’s Donald Fagan to perform his new song Fix the Weather in the World, said “I was into Steely Dan. I’d smoke a lot of weed.” His band director Paul Schaefer seemed to agree: “That was you!” Letterman confirmed: “That was me!” One must hope, for his own safety, that President Obama and the DEA don’t suspect that Letterman is now in possession of pot. But even if he is, Leave him alone, Mr. President!
Tomorrow, the Green-Rainbow Party will hold its Convention in Worcester, Massachusetts, beginning at 9 am. 2012 Presidential candidate Jill Stein will speak there, and 2012 Green Vice Presidential nominee Cheri Honkala will be the Keynote Speaker. You should attend if you can. And if you’re passing through Western Massachusetts on the way to Worcester, and you’d like to carpool, please let me know, because, otherwise, I’ll be on my way walking. But I’ll be there at the Convention for sure, I wouldn’t miss it. Giant Green Women From Earth!
(UPDATE: This part is over: It was a smashing success!)
Florida: What it was like being Tortured in the United States 31 years ago Today– by NormanB (“Deviations from the Norm”)
Let’s have a big laugh about Torture. Torture can be fun, funny. I haven’t publicly addressed this nearly enough, and for good reason. But now, let’s all laugh it up at my Torture. Because laughing is more constructive than crying, more positive. I do sometimes deal with my own Torture in my act:
Some people think of June 6 as D-Day, the day in 1944 that US and Allied forces invaded Normandy, France, from England, leading to the defeat of Germany in World War II. The anniversary holds a different significance for me. It was the day in 1981 that US and hostile forces invaded NormanB in Florida.
That’s the day I was Tortured, nearly to death, by public employees (cops and a doctor) in Florida, USA. They accused me of drug crimes that they couldn’t prove. They broke my back. They hemorrhaged my eyeballs. They permanently paralyzed part of my right hand. (I am right-handed, and a writer.)
What they did to me fits the Webster definition for Torture: Intentionally inflicting harm or damage, or the fear thereof, in attempt to obtain evidence or confession. I think it also fits the definition of Kidnapping.
Cops committed the crimes, but guess who got arrested? I was ultimately charged with three violent felonies against them!
Their actual story, as read in court from their depositions, was that when they approached me with their guns drawn: I attacked them; none of them touched me; and then I broke my own back. (I may have lost consciousness during part of the Torture, but I know that’s not what happened!)
So, I need to tell what happened, and how it came about. But I don’t want to tell anybody; I need to. I don’t want to think about it. I want to forget about it. I want it not to have happened. Broken back. I was planning to use that vertebra.
The Torture lasted for hours, at three different locations. They thought I was dead a couple of times. And I sure thought I was dead. I thought they were just going to bury me out back. I’m pretty sure they would have done that if I hadn’t gotten word out that I’d been disappeared.
When they realized that I was paralyzed from the waist down, they tried to make me walk, by having two trustees drag me around the jail while a police lady moved my feet. Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!
The beating was ostensibly just spontaneous mayhem, just a stupid poorly trained policeman almost Murdering a county citizen whom he was being paid to protect.
Though the investigation certainly did relate to it, the violence may have had nothing to do with the death threat I received a few months earlier from a DEA agent – the threat that he would kill me if I exposed pertinent details of a CIA Cocaine smuggling operation. I never did reveal those details, but it looks like he sicked the dogs on me anyway. And I don’t mean dogs.
In order to set me up, the Pasco County Sheriff’s Department used Confidential Informant Jack Windisch. Though too old to be a student, Jack used to hang around my high school to sell hard drugs (Cocaine, Dilaudid [pharmaceutical Heroin two-and-a-half times as strong as the real thing], and other pharmacy products, as well as their bootlegged knockoffs). By the time Jack was assigned to entrap me, he was already angry at me for making him pay after he had tried to rip me off, and he was charged with cigarette smuggling.
Western Pasco County is a small smuggling community on Florida’s West Coast (the very next county North of the counties of Tampa and St. Pete – “Tampa Bay”). In my time, there were only two industries in West Pasco: Drug dealing and jailing. Many people were involved in both: The then-current Sheriff and the previous one both lived at the same private airport, where residents have airplane hangars next to their garages. Went on for decades.
Yes, even now every day police chase drug users and sellers while ignoring the actual crimes going on all around them. A bunch of ignorant cowards, afraid of real criminals, brutalizing school kids.
June 6, 1981, Jack Windisch phoned me, looking for some coke. I told him I had none. Right away somebody else called me, offering some. Perhaps a little too naive, I didn’t smell a rat yet. I got together with Jack. He shot up most of the coke and poured in a bunch of cut. We went to a Sambo’s restaurant parking lot where I wasn’t supposed to meet anybody.
I was still sitting in the driver’s seat when Jack brought a plainclothesman to the passenger door. The undercover detective said that a small plastic packet in my hand looked good. I knew that wasn’t good. If a bag that he thinks is Cocaine looks good to him in the dark from four or five feet away, then he’s a cop. Conventional drug-world wisdom and judicial precedent tell us what’s done next. I dropped the packet into a hard-box cigarette pack with no cigarettes in it. I crumbled the hard-box. He pulled out his gun and pointed it at me. “Pasco County Sheriff’s Department!”
I put the hard-box in my mouth. Now, I know first-hand why Alexander the Great made his soldiers shave for battle: The first thing that detective did was grab my beard and try to pull my mouth open. But I knew from Anatomy and Physiology class (I had studied Pharmacy in college) that the human jaw can clamp down tight with force that applies 20,000 pounds of pressure per square inch of tooth surface area: Anyone can hold your mouth closed; but nobody can hold your mouth open. However, it was a big package, and he stopped me swallowing it by choking me.
Suddenly, out of nowhere [or perhaps out of cars in the parking lot] uniformed Pasco County Sheriff’s Deputies were running at me. The first one at my driver’s door was a 300-pound behemoth, the monster who did most of the damage. “Spit it out or I’ll blow your brains out!” he yelled as he pointed his gun at my head. I just said “Uuuuhhhhhhhhh!!!” [I was being choked.] He’d said he was willing to kill me for Possession. But I still knew about the 20,000 pounds psi.
The second cop started choking me lower on my neck than the first one. They both choked me and yanked my beard and hair and tried to force their hands into my mouth. The lying detective said that I had bitten his finger. If I had done that, his finger would have gone to the same place that hard-box went.
With both of them choking me, I stopped breathing. I thought I was about to pass out. Finally the first one let go of my neck, and I swallowed the hard-box. The big uniformed cop (weighing more than twice as much as me) yanked me out of the car by my neck, and hammered my head into the pavement of Sambo’s parking lot, over and over and over again, screaming “Spit it out! Spit it out!”
With my body between his legs, he stood cussing at me, calling me names, and dashing my bloodied head to the concrete. He stomped his jackboot onto my right hand twice, severing part of the radial nerve, permanently paralyzing part of my right thumb and ring finger. He kept his boot on my hand, his full weight. A second cop grabbed my other hand. A third one grabbed my feet. The hammering continued.
As my eyeballs hemorrhaged, I could see nothing but rapidly changing bright colors. Red! Green! Blue! Orange! White! Purple! Black! Flame! Red! Blue!…
I felt like I was flying upward in a spiral, through the flashing changing colors, flying faster and faster and faster! He hammered my head again and again. I knew I was dying. Shortly after the Torture started, I may have gasped the word “Pig!” between hammerings to the concrete; but now, dying, I didn’t want my last words to be words of hate, so I said “Jesus loves you.” Then he smashed my head a bunch more times.
They threw me into the back of a pig car and laughed about me not breathing. Two of them sat in the front seat of the car and started filling out reports.
Here is perhaps the place to flash forward to talk about my injuries. I already told you about the hand. Hemorrhaged eyeballs are not bloodshot. I don’t know what my eyes looked like the night of the Torture, because the police didn’t allow a mugshot. That would have been evidence against them. I know what my hemorrhaged eyes looked like in the mirror a month later: They were still not bloodshot: They were solid red, fire-engine red, as red as that bright red icon on your computer screen. Not bloodshot.
I don’t know exactly how or exactly when they fractured my vertebra. Maybe they hit me with their clubs. That could do it. They broke off one of the processes [bony protrusions] from a vertebra in the upper part of my back. Now, all these years later, it remains lodged between my heart and my lung, a living “bone island.” And what about mental damage? Well,… I tried to publish this article on June 6. …It’s not that anymore. Man, this is hard.
When I began to move, the cop in the driver’s seat exclaimed “He’s not dead!” The detective answered “He’s alright. Take him to West Pasco [Hospital] to get his stomach pumped!” They rushed me to the county Hospital, not to treat my extremely severe injuries, but to continue Torturing me, to try to [unconstitutionally] gain more evidence.
In the ER I met the evil Dr. Charles Prespare, MD, who is still practicing medicine in Spring Hill, Florida. I told him he should be treating my head injuries – I didn’t yet know that my back was broken, but I knew I was hurt, abrasions and blood and bruises all over my face and my head and my body.
I told him to treat my injuries, but the Fascists told him to pump my stomach. He got out an emergency medical text and read aloud that it takes 1.2 grams of snorted Cocaine for a fatal overdose.
I told the doctor I needed to speak with him privately. He pulled a curtain between me and the cops. That actually didn’t provide any privacy for our conversation, since the detective who started the beating was right there on the other side of the curtain and could hear every word. I told Dr. Prespare about Jack cutting the coke in half, and that it was nowhere near pure even before he stepped on it. So, I hadn’t taken anything like a whole gram, and anyway the 1.2 gram fatality was based on snorting, not eating it. (The reason people snort coke is that it doesn’t get you high eating it, because the metabolism is too slow to produce a high, much less an overdose.)
I told Dr. Prespare this was no O.D. and that he should be treating my injuries instead of further Torturing me. He threw the curtain back and said “Pump his stomach!” Then I demanded “What’s your name, doctor?!” He quipped “Dr. Wasserman!” ridiculing his patient, while drawing uproarious laughs from his fellow Torturers.
Healthcare workers witnessing the crimes were horrified. But none of them came forward to help me out with my case in the weeks and months that followed. Most people are afraid to oppose Fascist repression and violence. The regular Emergency Room workers wouldn’t help them Torture me though, so the cops and Dr. Prespare carried on without them. They tied my hands down. They tied my legs down. They forced a tube up my nose, down my throat, and into my stomach.
The mad doctor pumped a pint of noxious Ipecac syrup into my stomach. Ipecac bark is poisonous, and awful to a mere mortal. But I belong to the Church of the Tree of Life wherein we use herbs as sacraments, and even before joining the Church, I had been an herbalist for years, an herbal high enthusiast. I’ve had lots worse stuff in my stomach than that putrid Ipecac. I just looked at them. He pumped in another pint of Ipecac. I just looked at them.
An unexpanded human stomach only holds about two pints. But stomachs do expand. My Torturers pumped in another pint of Ipecac. Still nothing. The doctor was not legally allowed to pump in another pint of Ipecac. So, he pumped in a pint of water. I don’t intend to ever give evidence under Torture, even unto pain of death!
Dr. Prespare had used what looked like a turkey baster to pump the fluids up my nose and down the tube in my throat to my stomach. At this point, he inserted the turkey baster into the end of the tube still protruding out of my nose. He used it to suck liquid up the tube, then pumped it back down, fast. Up. Down. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. I was starting to feel nauseous. I was turning my head side to side, trying to make sure that if I threw up, it would be either on that lying detective or on that evil doctor.
Finally, I vomited, but I caught the hard-box with my teeth and swallowed it again. I was hurting. Bad. I knew that swallowing the pack again would mean a lot more Torture. But I had no choice: If I submitted and gave evidence under Torture, then that would encourage the practice of Torture. I would be doing the wrong thing. I thought I might die at any second. I didn’t want my last act to be doing something I know is wrong. Do not cooperate with Torture! Ever!
Well, they did it again, until I vomited again. This time, they were able to recover the hard-box and one plastic packet containing brown stomach juices. Their lying lab claimed that it was the purest Cocaine that they had ever tested. After those hours of ordeals, first in the parking lot, then in the Hospital, they still refused to treat my injuries. They sent me to the jail, where there were no medical facilities or healthcare workers.
At the jail, I was ordered to do something, go somewhere. I said I couldn’t do it, because I couldn’t move my legs. They wouldn’t take “No” for an answer. They had me dragged around for an hour, trying to make me walk. I couldn’t.
When a another cop came on duty, he looked in at me in my cell, where I lay face down on the cement floor, all bloodied and not moving. “What’s wrong with this guy? Is he dead?” The receptionist told him “He’s not dead. He was ‘Resisting Arrest With Violence,’” a crime which, if true, would theoretically make Torturing or Murdering me OK. The newly arrived cop chuckled. “He looks like he was ‘Resisting Arrest With Violence,” he said, drawing lots of male laughter from other cops. As you might guess, ‘Resisting Arrest With Violence’ is a very common charge in these here parts. Then and now, lots of people were/are Tortured and Murdered by police in Florida.
All day, during the next day, people came to visit prisoners. They all stopped at the receptionist’s desk, 20 feet from my cell. Every time I heard someone there, I yelled out that the police had Tortured and crippled me. I urged them to call the FBI and the newspaper. All the visitors acted like they didn’t hear me. Of course they did: They were there to visit or pick up their accused relatives: They didn’t want their relatives to be Tortured like me: They didn’t want to be brutalized or arrested themselves. People are afraid to oppose Fascism.
Of course, the police didn’t allow me a mugshot, fingerprinting, or one phone call. That would have been evidence against themselves. After a whole day of that, a trustee who apparently had access to a phone asked me if the police had really done “that” to me. He asked me whom I wanted him to call. I told him to call my parents. If he hadn’t called for me, I believe I would have been buried out in back of the jail. I wonder how many bodies are out there.
And I hope that trustee wasn’t Tortured or Murdered for making the call that may have saved my life. A few minutes later, I heard the receptionist lying to my father on the phone. “Yes, he’s here, Mr. Bie. No, you can’t see him. Yes, he is in pretty bad shape: He took an overdose of Cocaine.”
My second morning at the jail without medical help still had me lying face down on the cement floor. Perhaps the Ipecac poisoning was taking effect, I don’t know, but I went into convulsions, and a thick white foam mixed with blood began oozing out of my mouth. The jailers and cops found this very funny. Many of them looked in to make fun of my convulsing and effusing. One of them joked “Maybe he’ll die!” That brought on lots of male laughter, but the female receptionist angrily rebuked them.
“If he dies, it’s our ass!” she said – she was the one who had spoken to my father. She knew my life was in danger – both from my medical condition and from her comrades. But she didn’t seem concerned about my safety, just her own. In any case, it was her impetus that resulted in me being sent back to West Pasco Hospital, to finally be treated for my injuries, two days after the Torturers broke my back.
When the ambulance arrived, a cop told the driver that I needed to go to the Emergency Room for a Cocaine overdose. When I got to the Hospital, I blurted out to the first doctor I saw “There’s no overdose! The cops beat me up!” The doctor said “I can see that.”
The unconstitutional atrocities continued at the Hospital. The cop who broke my back, hemorrhaged my eyes, and paralyzed my hand walked into my Hospital room and chained me to the bed rail. He bellowed so loud it seemed to shake the Hospital halls: “If something happens and you start walking again, I’m gonna hit you!” The word hit is slang for Assassinate, as in hit man.
West Pasco Hospital used the crooked Dr. Willard O. Brown, D.O., on my case: After examining me and my X-rays, he didn’t notice any fractures. When I confronted Brown, and told him that the X-ray Technician has seen a fractured vertebra, Brown Covered Up, claiming that it was “an old fracture.” But I’d had no old fracture to my backbone. I knew right then I’d need to get out of this podunk backwater to get any healthcare. A few weeks later, I went to the city. I took the X-rays to Dr. Arthur Appleyard, MD, a legitimate doctor in St. Pete. He confirmed that it was a fractured vertebra, and a recent one. He was willing to testify.
This same Dr. Brown had two years earlier, in January 1979, examined X-rays of my skull after a semi-truck crushed my car with me in it. Brown noticed no fracture to my skull, though all later doctors who checked did. Here’s how to check: Feel the slightly protruding bony ridge that runs from your ear to your eye: I’ve got one on my left side, but on my right side it was dented, when that truck fractured my skull! Dr. Brown’s diagnosis helped out that trucking company a heap! [I don't know if he is the same Dr. Willard Brown whom Russel Means later told me about, who had (maybe intentionally) horribly messed up things for Means' fellow American Indian activist Leonard Peltier - but he got interrupted, and I didn't get the full story, though Means repeated the name several times: "Dr. Willard Brown."]
Because the cops didn’t allow a mug shot, and because photographic evidence could help our case, my brilliant lawyer Marc Salton (now a Judge) brought a photographer to the Hospital to document my injuries. But the cops physically stopped him, and took the photographer out of the Hospital. The next day Marc walked in carrying a briefcase. He whipped out a camera, and started shooting. The cops stopped him, but he’d gotten some good photos and ran out to get them developed. Of course, when we got to court, the prosecution tried to suppress that photographic evidence of my Torture.
When Attorney Salton had first met with me at the Hospital, I told him that I may not have actually been arrested, because I wasn’t booked, read my rights, fingerprinted, photographed, or allowed one phone call; and because it seemed like they were keeping my presence there a secret in case burial were deemed necessary. But Marc assured me that I had been arrested. My four original charges were Possession of Cocaine, Possession of Cocaine With Intent to Distribute, Possession of Narcotics Paraphernalia (Jack’s needles, which actually never were illegal), and Possession of Marijuana (less than one gram allegedly found in my pocket while I was unconscious).
After a couple of days in the Hospital, they stopped chaining me to the bed. With lots of help from Physical Therapists and Nurses’ Aides, I was able to walk again in a week or ten days. After a couple of weeks in the Hospital, I was released, as bail had been posted, ten percent of a few thousand dollars. Attorneys for drug cases cost thousands. If you can’t pay a good lawyer his good income, then you can’t expect of a good outcome.
I suggested my lawyer use the precedent of Jehovah’s Witnesses being allowed to refuse blood transfusions on religious grounds, even if it endangers their lives; to show that I too had a right to turn down the “medical treatment” of having my stomach pumped, even though cops and a doctor claimed it was necessary. The prosecution tried to suppress the Torture photos, but the Judge insisted on viewing them. He surpassed the precedent:
He ruled that my Torture was more repugnant to the community than any drug crime could possibly be. He threw out the Cocaine and Paraphernalia charges, leaving only the Misdemeanor Marijuana. But the prosecution was undeterred: They quickly filed three violent felony counts against me, to try to excuse what the cops had done. Let me state here that I am a pacifist. The St. Petersburg Times after the beating quoted my father as saying that I was “a well-known pacifist.” I did not commit any violence against them, yet they charged me with Aggravated Assault, Battery on a Law Enforcement Officer, Resisting Arrest With Violence, and Possession of a pinch of pot.
After a year of legal wrangling and a change of venue to a different Judge, the case was ready for trial. Nervous, I cut my hair and shaved my beard, to try to look respectable. I got into court, and there sat a Judge with long hair and a beard. It seemed like he now wore my newly missing beard and hair. Here’s the sitch: I was already on drug Probation for pot and coke a few months before the Torture; but the prosecution flinched on trial date before we did, and agreed that if I’d plead No Contest, then Adjudication would be Withheld, and I would have no criminal record, not even on the drug crimes for which I was already on Probation.
The deal was cut, but the Judge had to make it look good for his audience, and I’m telling you, he leaned forward, pointed his trembling finger at me, and laid it on thick: “Fifteen years! The full force of every one of these charges! That’s what you’ll get if you ever get caught with drugs while you’re on my Probation, I’ll throw the book at you!” I did and he didn’t. For the three violent felonies, he added three months to the Probation I was already on, and when that was over, I had no criminal record. But what I had to go through for it!
And it seems that the First Amendment [granting Freedom of the Press] never passed in Pasco County, at all. I went to the local St. Petersburg Times office to get a copy of the weeks-old newspaper with the article about my Torture, including the words of my father and the lies of the Sheriff: “That’s what you have to expect when you Resist Arrest With Violence.” The person at the front desk claimed that they didn’t have any copies of it, and couldn’t get any. But since I was a reporter, I knew reporters, and one of them got me a copy of the paper.
Yeah, I was a reporter, until that very Sheriff ordered the West Pasco Press to fire me. Yeah, but here’s the thing, when you work as kind of your own boss, like I did, you don’t go into the office or even check in very much, when you’re out on the go, doing interviews, covering stories, shooting photos. So, I didn’t get the memo, that I was being fired on orders from the Sheriff. So, my assignment was to go photograph the Sheriff making some bullshit speech. I did it with aplomb. I shot photo after photo, near and far, used up the whole roll. I didn’t know that he had earlier that day refused to issue a Press Pass for me. I’m sure the ‘All-Reporters-Must-Carry-A-Press-Pass-Issued-By-the-Sheriff’ policy was started specifically to get rid of me. So I moved to a civilized country – St. Pete. More of a publishing industry down there, anyway.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Is pig one of those “words of hate”? In the 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, issued by the Canting Academy to translate slang from the slums of London, the word pig is defined as a police officer. The book gives examples of its correct usage. My favorite is the sentence using a few slang words, the premise being that straight people and cops won’t get what we’re talking about: “‘Let’s floor the pig and bolt’ means ‘Let’s knock the policeman down and run away.’” About that word pig, and remembering the quote from The Big Lebowski: “This isn’t a guy who built the railroads here.” But seriously, pig is an insult. It refers to corrupt and violent police whom poor people fear, and must hide from. It’s a good word.
And the Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue is lots of fun for cunning linguists; I highly recommend it. Torture and execution were popular public entertainment in those days. Cockles. Do you know what it means? Here, I’ll use it in a sentence: “I heard him cry ‘Cockles!’” Still don’t have it? Cockles is the sound a person makes when he’s being strangled to death. Ahahahahahahhaha!
Destroying Sacred or Sentimental Things as Free Speech — by NormanB ("Deviations from the Norm")
I was living in a flophouse in St. Pete in the 1980s. $35 dollars a week. Tiny room. Carl was the manager, living downstairs. I didn’t have to pay for electricity. Carl asked me what electrical appliance was constantly running in my room. I said none. He asked if I had a toaster. He asked me to unplug it while not in use.
Dave lived across the hall. He was older and straighter than me, but we got along pretty well. Once I was watching a linguistics class broadcast from a local university. Dave came over to watch and hang out, because he didn’t own a TV. Or any food. Or beer.
"Now, I’m going to show you a different kind of speech," the professor said with glee, "Free speech!" This professor was wearing a suit and tie; he looked straighter than Dave; but he grabbed a small American flag from his desk and burned it. Dave was fuming too. He was furious. What would this evil mad professor do next?!
Well, the prof pulled out a little copy of the Bible, the kind that has just the New Testament, Psalms, and Proverbs. He tore it apart. Dave hit the ceiling. (We had very low ceilings in tiny one-room efficiencies.) He crumbled the beer can. He punched the ceiling. He stormed out of the room.
Dave was not particularly religious. Or patriotic. But there was no consoling him, no getting him to see that the professor was obviously trying to make a point, or that the professor’s point was proven by Dave’s reaction to the desecration.
I guess the director in Denmark was just trying to make a point when he decided to depict the severed heads of Jesus, Buddha, and Muhammad in his version of Mozart’s Idomeneo. That trio of heads weren’t actually called for in the libretto script, because the opera is set in the 13th Century BC, long before Jesus, Buddha, and Muhammad were born. But the scene does bring home the point, of how bad, bad, bad it is to present those heads, and whatever that character actually presented in the actual script, wasn’t actually that shocking to our modern sensibilities. Not as shocking as that trio of heads. So, it was severed heads all around!
We’ve all heard of the bombing-the-Danish-theatre plot. What we don’t hear about it as much is that it was planned by US DEA agent David Headley. Headley confessed to that crime, to Smuggling Heroin into the US, and to planning the attacks on Jews in Mumbai in November 2008. The Mumbai attacks led to India’s "27/11" State of Emergency, which then (all together now children:) ‘Removed the Civil Rights of India’s citizens.’ Let us hope, for the Florida pastor’s sake, and for our own, that US intelligence isn’t just propagandizing us, using their same old modus operandi, planning another attack like Mumbai or the Danish theatre, this time against a US church, and then blaming Muslims, like they did in India and Denmark and Oklahoma City.
Dave didn’t go blow up the TV station, or even ask me to find out where the professor’s office was. He was angry, but no revenge. CNN just spent the entire first half of August apparently trying to inspire Hate Crimes, as the ‘All-Mosque-All-the-Time Channel.’ They backed off from that coverage when the Hate Crimes started piling up.
If you include lapsed barely-theres like Dave and me, there are one-and-two-third billion Christians in the world. By an odd coincidence, there are exactly the same number of Muslims.
Assassination Squad Complications: India Urges US: Stop Blocking Investigation of Mumbai Terrorist/Heroin Smuggler/US Agent David Headley — by NormanB ("Deviations from the Norm")
In New Delhi Thursday India External Affairs Minister S.M. Krishna pressed US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton to allow the Indian Government access to US Agent David Headley, the confessed Mumbai terrorist bombing conspirator who "struck a bargain" with the US Department of Justice. (What a bargain!)
Heroin smuggler Headley was a DEA Agent. He’s also purportedly CIA. Such connections provide perfect cover for smuggling – The CIA shouldn’t spy on us here in the US, but the DEA freely can: An Agent with both can operate where one or the other is disallowed by law, and do commerce between the two, subverting the law for both.
The case shows a close parallel in the way the US used terrorist attack propaganda jingo to devastate human rights ("9/11") and the way Great Britain used terrorist attack propaganda jingo to devastate human rights ("7/7") and the way India used terrorist attack propaganda jingo to devastate human rights ("26/11").
It begs the question: Did those Governments already have marketing strategies for their remarkably similar jingoes ready, hoping a terrorist attack would empower them to use those strategies and slogans? (Or, didn’t they NEED terrorist assistance to implement the Wolfowitz Doctrine of suppressing Human Rights to get Oil?) It also begs the obvious question: Is Headley one of President Obama’s paid assassins?
Here Glenn Greenwald reports that President Obama was ordering assassinations within 3 weeks of DEA Agent Headley’s Mumbai bombing:
Ultra-right-wing Presidents Ford, Reagan and George H.W. Bush all pledged that the US would not commit Human Rights Atrocities, specifically that we’d never dispatch assassins. Here independent UN investigator on extrajudicial killings Philip Alston said Wednesday that such targeted killings are War Crimes:
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